I had attacked the controls so violently, fumbling in my haste, that my fingers were torn and bleeding.

A bluish glimmer, like that of a ghostly dawn, lit up the walls. Swirling clouds of vaporous dust eddied round the launching pad; the dust turned into a column of fierce sparks and the echoes of a thunderous roar drowned all other noise. Three flames, merging instantly into a single pillar of fire, lifted the craft, which rose up through the open hatch in the dome, leaving behind a glowing trail which rippled as it gradually subsided. Shutters slid over the hatch, and the automatic ventilators began to suck in the acrid smoke which billowed round the room.

It was only later that I remembered all these details; at the time, I hardly knew what I was seeing. Clinging to the control-panel, the fierce heat burning my face and singeing my hair, I gulped the acrid air which smelt of a mixture of burning fuel and the ozone given off by ionization. I had instinctively closed my eyes at the moment of lift-off, but the glare had penetrated my eyelids. For some time, I saw nothing but black, red and gold spirals which slowly died away. The ventilators continued to hum; the smoke and the dust were gradually clearing.

The green glow of the radar-screen caught my eye. My hands flew across its controls as I began to search for the shuttle. By the time I had located it, it was already flying above the atmosphere. I had never launched a vehicle in such a blind and unthinking way, with no pre-set speed or direction. I did not even know its range and was afraid of causing some unpredictable disaster. I judged that the easiest thing to do would be to place it in a stationary orbit around Solaris and then cut the engines. I verified from the tables that the required altitude was 725 miles. It was no guarantee, of course, but I could see no other way out.

I did not have the heart to switch on the intercom, which had been disconnected at lift-off. I could not bear to expose myself again to the sound of that horrifying voice, which was no longer even remotely human.

I felt I was justified in thinking that I had defeated the ‘simulacra,’ and that behind the illusion, contrary to all expectation, I had found the real Rheya again — the Rheya of my memories, whom the hypothesis of madness would have destroyed.

At one o’clock, I left the hangar-deck.

6 “THE LITTLE APOCRYPHA”

My face and hands were badly burnt. I remembered noticing a jar of anti-burn ointment when I was looking for sleeping pills for Rheya (I was in no mood to laugh at my naïvete), so I went back to my room.

I opened the door. The room was glowing in the red twilight. Someone was sitting in the armchair where Rheya had knelt. For a second or two, I was paralysed with terror, filled with an overwhelming desire to turn and run. Then the seated figure raised its head: it was Snow. His legs crossed, still wearing the acid-stained trousers, he was looking through some papers, a pile of which lay on a small table beside him. He put down those he was holding in his hand, let his glasses slide down his nose, and scowled up at me.

Without saying a word, I went to the basin, took the ointment out of the medicine chest and applied it to my forehead and cheeks. Fortunately my face was not too swollen and my eyes, which I had closed instinctively, did not seem to be inflamed. I lanced some large blisters on my temples and cheekbones with a sterilized needle; they exuded a serous liquid, which I mopped up with an antiseptic pad. Then I applied some gauze dressing.

Snow watched me throughout these first-aid operations, but I paid no attention to him. When at last I had finished (and my burns had become even more painful), I sat myself down in the other chair. I had first to remove Rheya’s dress — that apparently quite normal dress which was nevertheless devoid of fastenings.

Snow, his hands clasped around one bony knee, continued to observe me with a critical air.

“Well, are you ready to have a chat?” he asked.

I did not answer; I was busy replacing a piece of gauze which had slipped down one cheek.

“You’ve had a visitor, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” I answered curtly.

He had begun the conversation on a note which I found displeasing.

“And you’ve rid yourself of it already? Well, well! That was quick!”

He touched his forehead, which was still peeling and mottled with pink patches of new skim. I was thunderstruck. Why had I not realized before the implications of Snow’s and Sartorius’s ‘sunburn’? No one exposed himself to the sun here.

Without noticing my sudden change of expression he went on:

“I imagine you didn’t try extreme methods straight away. What did you use first — drugs, poison, judo?”

“Do you want to discuss the thing seriously or play the fool? If you don’t want to help, you can leave me in peace.”

He half-closed his eyes.

“Sometimes one plays the fool in spite of oneself. Did you try the rope, or the hammer? Or the well-aimed ink-bottle, like Luther? No?” He grimaced, “Aren’t you a fast worker! The basin is still intact, you haven’t banged your head against the walls, you haven’t even turned the room upside down. One, two and into the rocket, just like that!” He looked at his watch. “Consequently, we have two or three hours at our disposal…. Am I getting on your nerves?” he added, with a disagreeable smile.

“Yes,” I said curtly.

“Really? Well, if I tell you a little story, will you believe me?”

I said nothing.

Still with that hideous smile, he went on:

“It started with Gibarian. He locked himself in his cabin and refused to talk to us except through the door. And can you guess what we thought?”

I remained silent.

“Naturally, we thought he had gone mad. He let a bit of it out — through the locked door — but not everything. You may wonder why he didn’t tell us that there was someone with him. Oh, suum cuique! But he was a true scientist. He begged us to let him take his chance!”

“What chance?”

“He was obviously doing his damnedest to solve the problem, to get to the bottom of it. He worked day and night. You know what he was doing? You must know.”

“Those calculations, in the drawer of the radio-cabin — were they his?”

“Yes.”

“How long did it go on?”

“This visit? About a week… We thought he was suffering from hallucinations, or having a nervous breakdown. I gave him some scopolamine.”

“Gave him?”

“Yes. He took it, but not for himself. He tried it out on someone else.”

“What did you do?”

“On the third day we had decided, if all else failed, to break down the door, maybe injuring his self-esteem, but at least curing him.”

“Ah…”

“Yes.”

“So, in that locker….”

“Yes, my friend, quite. But in the meantime, we too had received visitors. We had our hands full, and didn’t have a chance to tell him what was going on. Now it’s… it’s become a routine.”

He spoke so softly that I guessed rather than heard the last few words.

“I still don’t understand!” I exclaimed. “If you listened at his door, you must have heard two voices.”

“No, we heard only his voice. There were strange noises, but we thought they came from him too.”

“Only his voice! But how is it that you didn’t hear… her?”

“I don’t know. I have the rudiments of a theory about it, but I’ve dropped it for the moment. No point getting bogged down in details. But what about you? You must already have seen something yesterday, otherwise you would have taken us for lunatics.”

“I thought it was I who had gone mad.”

“So you didn’t see anyone?”

“I saw someone.”

“Who?”

I gave him a long look — he no longer wore even the semblance of a smile — and answered: